


Hiding

by NobodyAtAll



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Brief mention of prostitution, F/M, Mockingjay Spoilers, angsty, movie-verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 11:11:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5288513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NobodyAtAll/pseuds/NobodyAtAll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The truth was that she now believed in the rebels’ cause. It had taken far too long to sink in, but it had.<br/>A moment shared between Effie and Haymitch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hiding

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place sometime during Mockingjay, in District 13. One-shot.

“Hey... you okay?”

Effie Trinket blinked back her tears but couldn’t hide the tell-tale redness in her eyes. She swallowed, considering him. He was checking in on her like they were friends; and maybe they were. He had actually complimented her a few weeks ago. _“I like you better without all that makeup.”_ Without thinking, she’d sent a compliment right back at him. A truthful one. _“I like you better sober.”_ It was true, she did. But the exchange had left her feeling exposed; it was too vulnerable, too nice. It wasn’t the way they talked to each other.

Besides, the makeup and the hair and the fashion made it easier to pretend everything was perfect. The world was fine. _She_ was fine. Without it she was, again, too exposed. So Haymitch could ‘like her better’ all he wanted, but she did not like it one bit. Now everyone could see every time the color rose in her cheeks. Now everyone was watching the fear on her face, instead of the sparkle of her jewelry.

Effie liked to be in control. For years, stuck in her position as the District 12 escort, she had not had control over so many things, but she’d exercised strict control over the things she could: her image, her schedule, her manners. Her beliefs. Now, even those things had been wrenched out of her control.

The truth was that she now believed in the rebels’ cause. It had taken far too long to sink in, but it had. She had endured the pain of seeing her Tributes die, year after year. It was heartbreaking. Haymitch’s seeming indifference had infuriated her. If he would just clean up his act, maybe they’d stand a better chance next year. She was always working the sponsors as hard as she could, but very few people wanted their money to be handled by a drunken buffoon. She'd blamed him for Twelve’s inability to produce a victor.

Not once, in those days, had it occurred to her that perhaps the Games should not exist. That they were a man-made construct, not a necessary part of life.

Her outlook had shifted after Katniss’s propo in Eight. Seeing the wreckage of the hospital, the bombers, the fire... But she’d fought against the change in her thinking. _This is war,_ she had told herself. _And we are knowingly creating propaganda. You can’t trust how it makes you feel._ It had taken Finnick’s propo to fully shake her awake. It had taken knowing that the president was _selling_ the Victors, who had been promised a life of prosperity and peace. Seeing the truth of it in Finnick’s eyes. And in Haymitch’s.

The Games had no true Victors. People in the districts were treated like slaves, especially the Victors.

But she couldn’t admit any of this to anyone, least of all to Haymitch. His disdain for her would only increase if she told him what was on her mind. How stupid did she have to be, not to figure it out until now? It’s what the rebels had been saying all along. She should have understood it long ago. She’d been close enough to the Games. She’d seen the poverty in District 12. She’d shepherded the starving children into the arena. She’d recognized how unfair it all was, but she’d been too afraid to admit it to herself. 

And she was still afraid: To defy the Capitol. To defy President Snow. To turn her back on her family and her friends and her upbringing. But it was done, it was too late - she already felt it. She already believed in the cause. And she couldn’t un-think her traitorous thoughts. What was left was to declare it out loud, and the simple fact of it was that she was too afraid, too guilty, and too proud.

She looked at Haymitch, who was still patiently waiting for an answer to his inquiry. They had known each other for close to eight years now. For all that time, had Snow been prostituting him, right in front of her eyes? _I wasn’t the only one,_ Finnick had said. Was she that ignorant? She was too terrified of the truth to find out. 

He was still waiting, watching her with grey eyes far steadier than she’d ever known them to be. If she told Haymitch everything she was thinking, she was sure he would not offer any comfort. He’d tear her down. He knew how to get under her skin. He’d call her ‘Princess’ and mock her for being shallow and ignorant. He’d make her suffer before he would even entertain the idea of believing her. It didn’t matter that he was starting to ‘like’ her, as he put it. She need only remind him of her Capitol roots and his utter disdain would surely resurface with vigor. And she didn’t want that. She wasn’t sure when it had happened, but Haymitch’s opinion of her _mattered._

No, she simply could not tell him that she finally knew she'd been wrong.

So she lifted the corners of her mouth into a weak smile. “I’m quite alright. Just worried about the children.” That, at least, was partly true.

Haymitch nodded grimly. He gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “Me too, sweetheart. Me too.”


End file.
